Show, Don't Tell
by Annaliese Forton
Summary: If only Launchpad would stop griping about his feelings and actually do something about them... [Darkwing/Launchpad] [One-Shot]


**A/N: For months I have felt that there is a severe lack of Darkwing/Launchpad fic in this fandom. Come on, guys! They _live_ together, raise a child together, and kiss (albeit jokingly) in an episode. That's more canon than the most popular tumblr ships.**

**Anyway, I decided to try to remedy the lack myself. So here is a one-shot that I wrote yesterday at an entirely too rapid pace. Enjoy. **

* * *

"I don't see why you don't just tell Dad," Gosalyn Mallard says loudly.

"Shh, Gos," Launchpad McQuack, her dad's sidekick and best friend, replies.

"Dad's not home, Launchpad, remember?"

It's a mild autumn afternoon. Gosalyn returned home with Honker after a long day of middle school, each returning to their respective houses from the bus stop. She bounded inside, calling for Dad and Launchpad, only to discover that the former had gone grocery shopping. So she asked for the usual Launchpad-snack—i.e. chocolate milk and chocolate cookies—and now listens to his usual spiel about her father.

Or rather, about his _feelings_ for her father.

"Right," Launchpad says, sitting down beside the preteen at the kitchen table.

She dips her cookie in her milk. "Just tell Dad. Then you and me won't have to be quiet," she says smartly, biting into the cookie.

"What am I supposed to say?" Launchpad questions. "'Oh, DW, we caught Quackerjack and Megavolt? That's good. By the way, I love you'?!"

Gosalyn gives him a quick, incredulous look before starting on a poor impersonation. "DW," she starts, lowering her voice to a ridiculous level. "I just wanted to tell you that I think you're hot and that we should-"

"Stop right there, Gos," Launchpad says, almost a pleading in his voice. "I think school's been too much of an influence on you."

"-make out," she finishes, redunking her cookie, crumbs breaking free into the milk. "Gee, Launchpad, what'd you think I was gonna say? I'm eleven, get your mind out of the gutter." A decent-size bite of cookie has Gosalyn speaking with her mouth full as she continues, "Still, I think you should just tell him. I mean, what's the worst he could do? 'Friendzone' you?"

Launchpad shakes his head. "I don't wanna think about the worst. He could hate me, kick me out, refuse to ever go to Hamburger Hippo-"

"I can't imagine the stress of having no Hamburger Hippo," Gosalyn interrupts dryly. "How about you say, 'DW, I've been in love with you for two years.' Then just let Dad react."

"I can't do that," Launchpad gripes. "That'd be stupid."

Gosalyn tries her hardest to avoid making a remark that is anywhere near, 'Then it's not that far-fetched for you to do.' "Just let him know how you feel about him."

Launchpad sighs heavily. "I can't, Gos."

That is how these conversations always end. No, it isn't a first-time deal. At least once a week for the past year—when Launchpad had finally entrusted Gosalyn with the secret of how he felt about her father—such a conversation would ensue, beginning with Launchpad asking what he should say, Gosalyn replying with a bunch of, in her opinion, brilliant ideas, Launchpad refuting every one of them, and then him finally saying 'I can't' and the discussion ending. At this point, it is quite monotonous, truth be told.

Gosalyn finishes up her afterschool snack and races to the living room to catch the monster movie marathon on TV, leaving Launchpad alone in the kitchen with his feelings and contemplation.

It isn't long before the front door opens and the rustle of plastic grocery bags greets the house. Drake cheerily says, "Hello, Gosalyn," happy to see that she hasn't made a mess in her hour of being home from school. He enters the kitchen with three bags full of food and various other things, and greets Launchpad as well.

"Hey, LP," he says simply, setting the bags on the counter. "You wanna bring in the rest?"

Launchpad watches as Drake puts a gallon of milk in the fridge. He smiles, glad he can at least enjoy the domesticity with the love of his life.

And it's a typical day at the Mallard house.

/\/\/\

\/\/\/

Drake tells Launchpad to stay behind tonight, as the Muddlefoots are out of town and can't watch Gosalyn.

"It's just the typical patrol, LP. You won't be missing out on anything exciting," he says as he straightens his hat on his head.

Launchpad wants to pull him in and give him a kiss good-bye, but it's not something sidekicks and superheroes do, so he refrains.

"Yeah," he breathes, waving as Drake, now Darkwing, heads to the door. "I'll make sure Gos is in bed on time, DW."

"You better," Darkwing says, his hand on the door, lingering. "And no ice cream. You already gave her a chipper chocolate overload earlier."

"No ice cream," Launchpad repeats, and then Darkwing's out the door and into the night.

So Gosalyn and Launchpad sit on the couch watching 'Pelican's Island' reruns—the only show rerunning on the local channels, as their cable box has yet to be repaired since Gosalyn broke it two days ago—until she falls asleep on Launchpad's shoulder. Launchpad realizes it's twenty minutes past her bedtime, but he figures Drake won't mind too much since she is already asleep.

He carries her up the stairs and lays her in her bed, tucking her in as if she were his own kid. Which, to him, she is. And he's pretty sure that he's just as much a father in her eyes as Drake is.

Launchpad ends up dozing off on the couch for a couple of hours, only waking around one in the morning due to being hungry.

He is a little worried, however, that Drake still isn't home. A usual patrol—that is, one that doesn't involve any of the Fearsome Five—only takes him and Darkwing about two hours, and Darkwing left four hours ago.

And Launchpad's mind goes straight to where it always goes: the worst possible scenario. It isn't that farfetched, after all; Darkwing deals with deadly supervillians all the time.

A creak sounds from the stairs, and Launchpad whips his head around. "What are you doin' up, Gos?" he asks, trying his best to hide his concern.

"My feet got hot," she explains. "You forgot to take my shoes off."

"Oh yeah," Launchpad says, recalling the process of putting her in bed and that it didn't involve removing her red Converse.

"Where's Dad?" she asks, blinking at the clock behind Launchpad.

And there is the question that forces Launchpad to confront the fact that Darkwing is still not home.

"I dunno," he said, looking at the glowing screen of the television.

Gosalyn finishes her trip down the staircase and flops down beside Launchpad on the sofa. "You don't think he's... hurt, right, Launchpad?"

"I don't know," he confesses. "You know what?" he adds. "You're up, I'm up. Let's go see if we can find him."

"Great thinking, Launchpad," Gosalyn agrees.

They pile into the all-too-suburban-family car in the garage and head to the hideout for the Thunderquack.

/\/\/\

\/\/\/

"I was _fine_, LP. I had it all under control," Darkwing says petulantly, looking out the window at the ground below.

"Whatever you say, DW," Launchpad replies, pulling into the hideout.

"No, you didn't, Dad," Gosalyn argues. "That was a closer call than you've ever had. You were almost fried!"

"Details, details," Darkwing says dismissively as they get into the Ratcatcher to go home. "Ol' Megsy caught me by surprise! I could've sworn he was locked away, the luminous lunatic."

The drive home is rather silent. Darkwing drives, as there was no actual damage caused by whatever device Megavolt had him strapped to, but Launchpad's completely quiet. It's unusual for him, even if he is running on a handful of hours of sleep. Gosalyn, however, doses.

Once they're home and Gosalyn's in bed, Launchpad finally speaks.

"Drake," he says, causing said man to turn around. Launchpad almost never uses his name; it's always 'DW.'

"Yes, LP?" he answers, taking a seat next to his companion on the couch.

"You almost died tonight," Launchpad states in the most solemn tone Drake's ever heard from him. He looks at him with concern and... something else that Drake can't quite place.

"But I didn't," Drake retorts.

"But you _could've_," Launchpad insists.

"Bygones," Drake supplies simply.

They fall into a silence. Not an uncomfortable silence, but a tense one, and Drake cannot name what the tension is. It's there, however, and quite tangible.

The television's providing a too-early-in-the-morning glow to the room, and Drake can feel Launchpad's eyes on him. He turns to him.

Enough is enough. "Is there something you needed, L-"

And he's cutoff by Launchpad's mouth being pressed to his own in the most fervent kiss he's ever had.

He 'umphs' at first, being caught off-guard, but he quickly allows himself to be swept up into the emotions that have been running high all night.

And both of them can feel the sparks running through their vains, almost as if Megavolt had succeeded in shooting them both.

This is something Drake never knew he wanted, never felt he needed, until now. And it is perfect.

When they finally separate, they're both on a sensual high.

"Sorry," Launchpad murmurs, his breath warm on Drake's lips.

"Don't be," Drake says, and pulls him in by the scarf for another kiss.

/\/\/\

\/\/\/

The house seems empty when Gosalyn awakes the next morning. But when she peeks in her dad's room, she realizes it's not nearly as empty as it seems.

"Guess he finally told him," she says quietly to herself, slipping down the stairs and leaving Drake and Launchpad intertwined.

_~fin_


End file.
